#file. valourbound.

[pathoscleaved]

@valour-bound is stuck within the web, and cannot escape.

THE STARS OFFICE, EARLY MORNING: ANOTHER ALL-NIGHTER. Streams of light break in through the white window shades, illuminating a sole figure's silhouette. Captain Wesker sits in his brown leather chair, feet kicked up upon the cherry wood of his desk. Glasses are off, thrown haphazardly across the swirling, dark brown and burgundry grain, and fingers knead tension out of the bundle of stress between his eyebrows. He wears his usual attire, but his tactical vest is off and laying in the seat in the corner of his office. 

Albert is... a mess. 

Dark hues of purple decorate his under eyes, and he has been sleeping even less than usual. His carefully brushed, spun-gold locks are back to their more unkempt placement, as if they had decided to rebel against his gel. His muscles ache with lactic acid buildup, the pressure enough to make him more sluggish - and within, a storm churns, rotating faster and faster.

Since Christopher Redfield had been attacked and so gregariously injured by an assailant, Wesker has been to himself, only coming out of his office to bark orders and recieve reports. He seems to ignore everyone but Chris, as if the rest of the STARS team is just a distraction, or he pays them little attention. So unlike the man who made it his duty as captain to build and keep a strong repertoire with his team. And when he does give Chris his attention, it is fleeting -

Whenever he sees the marksman, all he can see is the crimson slowly overtaking the concrete and Redfield's pale form, like Chris was getting tucked into a blanket of blood. The fear and panic that rushes through him when he remembers how quickly he offered up his own vein for a blood transfusion, and the relief when he started being stable, is an acknowledgement he cannot run from: he is hopelessly in love with Christopher Redfield.

He doesn't remember when the feelings started getting uncontrollable, just that one moment, Albert viewed him as that really handsome pilot who saved his life during the Gulf War, and the next, his best friend whom he could not live without. Chris had become a permanent fixture, as reliable as his own hands, and the experience of almost losing him had shaken him to his core.

In the orphanage where he grew up, he had always been taught to never let another impact him as such. That emotions were little more than tools that the exceptionally bright could manipulate.

It had developed out of his control, and Albert felt he was being devoured alive with want. Chris dominated his thoughts. 

After filing reports for what feels like centuries into the early morning, the captain grabs his belongings (a set of keys, his glasses which go back into place so easily upon his features, his fingerless gloves that he shoves on, and a leather backpack that he slings over his shoulder), and meanders out of his office. Clicking the light and turning his back to the rest of the STARS headquarters, Wesker rubs sleep from his eyes and yawns as he sets about locking his door. His keys rattle and jingle while he turns the lock, and when he moves to leave, that storm inside of him swells when he sees Chris, asleep, on a stack of folders at his own desk. He looks so peaceful, the soft rise and fall of his chest enough to soothe Wesker's fears. No blood, no losing him, just his steady breath -

Oh, how he loves him more.

Deciding that he cannot leave him there, Albert pads over and stands behind him for a moment. Chris smells so good that he leans down a little and breathes him in - one un-gloved hand moving to bury itself in short, dark strands. Soothing touches, soothing strokes. 

"Chris," he whispers, "wake up."

And when the other rouses from sleep, Albert moves away quickly and gives his shoulder a squeeze.

"I'll take you home. You shouldn't be driving. You're still recovering."

Albert's own blossoming splotch of blue, yellow, black, and purple reminds him of that, too. 

His blood had pumped within Chris's veins to keep him alive. And Albert had never felt the urge to give quite so much. He had almost passed out from it.

By the time Chris comes out to meet him and slides into the passenger seat of Wesker's Jaguar, Albert is tapping the steering wheel to some Vivaldi that blares through the black car's speakers. 

"Put on your seatbelt," he orders, waits for it to be done, and then peels off towards the direction of Chris's apartment. Wesker is silent, keeping his distance, ignoring the fact that Redfield's presence still makes him feel like he's buzzing. The drive isn't too bad, not enough people on the road to cause any issues or traffic. The only companion to the Jaguar as it coasts down the street is the occasional stop sign or street light.

They pull up to the curb, and Albert climbs out. He almost hops back into the car and drives off, but something keeps him rooted there, and he cannot leave him. To do so would be agony. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks and walks on, his Oxfords clicking against the concrete.

And as he walks behind Chris, he realizes this is the first time they'd been truly alone since the incident when he'd almost lost his best man.

When he comes to the door of the complex, the thought to turn and run back to the safety of his car does strike his mind, and yet, when Chris turns to say goodbye, and those blue-brown eyes look at him, Albert falls into them, and he knows... he knows that he is going to change their dynamic forever. 

"Chris," he whispers, "wait. I - "

Genuine feelings are so difficult.

Albert's hand reaches and wraps around Chris's wrist, to keep him there, too.

"I want to apologize."

The sentence feels heavy in his throat, but Bert persists.

"I know you wonder why I have been keeping my distance. It is... because I almost lost you."

Glasses are pulled off with the other hand and placed into shirt pocket, blue eyes shining with something intense and inexorable, if Albert did not know that the name for the emotion was love. 

The captain leans in close, resting his forehead to Chris's.

"If you haven't noticed," he says, a smirk quirking his lips to the side, "that thought causes me a lot of grief."

The smirk turns into a ghost of a genuine, happy smile, and Wesker's other hand moves to rest against the side of Chris's neck.

"It is because I love you, Christopher. I do."

The wind whips around them, and Albert can barely help it when he closes the distance between his and Chris's mouths. Both hands move to cradle Chris close, a bracket that means he cannot get away from this bestowal of affection.

It is a kiss of claiming, of longing, of devotion and possession, of devouring. Wesker's fingers curl along his carotid, thumb gently tracing Redfield's pulse as he desperately tries to prove how much he means his words. His nose presses into Chris's cheek, and with each passing second, Albert finds himself falling deeper and deeper, soul intertwining with Chris's in a loop, an ouroboros, that never stops.

[pathoscleaved]

Just have to GUSH about this because @valour-bound and I collaborated on this wonderful main verse thread banner. My sweetheart took my concept/the original edit and really spruced it up. When I saw this, I happy stimmed for a good fifteen minutes.

The color - oh, it is wonderful. The red thread, the spider web, the badges. The overall composition. Sol is an absolutely amazing digital artist (they also have EXCEPTIONAL art that they draw on their blog, though they post their doodles and other drawings on Chris, as well ) and it was such a treat to recieve this back, because wow.

Upon the news that they were returning, Wesker and I had gotten exceptionally excited, as though I had had Wesker for years as a muse (recently realized I have mused him since I was the age of twelve, and thus, he is the oldest muse I have), he had made the decision to return to roleplay in the first place, because of Sol's wonderfully written Chris. And so, Wesker has been buzzing with excitement! This has led to a surge of muse across the board, though my work picked up on top of everything + it has been easier for me to mess around in Photoshop with such low mental energy.

But, back to Sol. I just want to gush also about their writing, which challenges me to write sensory-based scenes. I am so used to going internal on muses I write, especially Wesker, that Sol's beautiful, interlacing & detail-filled work really makes me put my terminal degree to use. I can see how they craft scenes using their eye for art, how they weave it into their writing so seamlessly - and though they can be so hard on themselves, their writing is honestly some of the most beautiful writing I've ever read. (I fell in love with you through your writing, lovebug, and you know I can be picky. In truth, I am in awe of you, and you write better than me, in my eyes.)

Sol and I are a matched set. In our main verse lore, they are each other's other halves; this dynamic feeds Wesker's muse so mightily, and allows him to better engage on the blog as well. I could honestly not find a better writer (or partner ♥️) to do this with. I am so grateful.

[pathoscleaved]

a surprise for @valour-bound ↳ aesthetic for chris, post re8

[pathoscleaved]

@valour-bound;

"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you." - The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustin Gomez-Arcos, tr. William Rodarmor

↳ the complicated dance & courtship of Chris Redfield & Dr. Albert Wesker